#pascal writes

Matthew wasn’t entirely sure what to expect when he’d join the special forces. Adventure, he guessed. Action. Really, it was a wonder he signed up at all considering how much he absolutely hated war and conflict. But he was good at it, he’d been told, and he was an excellent translator and surprisingly good shot (even with his slight nearsightedness). 

Also, his brother had dared him.

God, what a ridiculous reason to get thrown into a war. Sure, he got to go places. Yeah, he met all kinds of interesting people. But believe it or not, Matthew didn’t really take to being shot at or being air dropped into a building completely surrounded by extremists threatening to blow the place to the ground.

Sorry, was that a bit descriptive? Can’t imagine why that must be.

“I was wondering when you’d show!” Came a delighted voice when Matthew rounded the corner. He fell still, staring disbelievingly at the figure stood before him.

Ivan Braginsky, what Matthew had thought was a Russian ambassador stood in front of him, hands raised and stance utterly rigid. Despite the smile on his face, Ivan did look remarkably distressed.

Matthew could only guess it was because of the device strapped to his chest.

“Ivan, what the hell!?”

“I promise I didn’t do this on purpose.”

“Of course not.” Matthew slung his gun back over his shoulder, taking a moment to sweep the area for any trip wires or booby traps. “Doesn’t change the fact you’re here.” Matthew paused, shooting Ivan a curious look, “why are you here?”

“I may have divulged some particularly sensitive information to the wrong people,” Ivan began, “at least according to the ones who put this on me. Speaking of which, I don’t suppose you are proficient in bomb diffusement, are you?”

“Yeah, it’s required in grade school,” Matthew snarked taking a few cautious steps forward, “along with how to correctly chuck a grenade and not shoot your neighbor in the eye with an AK.”

“I’m sensing some sarcasm,” Ivan hummed, staring forward as Matthew circled him, “have I upset you?”

“Something of the sort.”

Of all the people in the world... Matthew couldn’t say he was surprised. Ivan was a pretty notable figure when it came to the mess they were dealing with. Ivan tugged at strings most people didn’t even know existed. He had contacts just about everywhere, and with that, lots of information at his disposal. He’d been a rather vital asset, and spent an awful lot of time under the supervision of Matthew’s team when visiting more...problematic areas.

It was a one in a billion chance that they would become friends. But then again, Ivan had a habit of sticking his enormously large nose where it really shouldn’t be; he was just remarkably good at being sneaky about it.

Until then, at least.

“You the only one here?” Matthew asked after assessing the situation. It seemed simple enough, but there was no telling if the device was set to a timer or waiting for someone to jam their thumb on the detonation button.

“Nyet. There’s three others throughout the building.” Ivan replied. “An ambassador from Finland and two others I haven’t actually met.”

“And here I thought you knew everybody.” Matthew breathed, reaching around to pull his rucksack to the floor. He quickly went digging around for the tools he’d need. “How long have you been here?”

“Two hours. Speaking of which, you’re late.” Ivan frowned.

“Could you sound at least a little more concerned for your life?” Matthew asked almost desperately, rising to his feet. “How are you not scared about this?”

Ivan gave the slightest shrug, looking remarkably disinterested. “I figure if it goes off I won’t even know it. Instantaneous vaporization.” 

“But you’d be dead.” Matthew said flatly, glancing up to meet Ivan’s gaze before turning his attention once more to the vest of wires and C4.

“And so would you,” Ivan remarked, “how poetic that would be, da?” He grinned. Matthew couldn’t help but prickle a bit at the other man’s demeanor. It was a little disturbing sometimes, and Matthew had met some pretty disturbing characters in his line of work.

“Forgive me for being cynical, but I don’t really find the thought of being reduced to nothing but chunks and red mist to be very appealing or poetic.” 

“So lacking in imagination.” Ivan hummed.

“Nope,” Matthew rifled through one set of tangled wires carefully, following them to their end points, “just pragmatic.”

“Are you free later?”

Matthew stilled, his violet blue gaze drifting up toward Ivan’s rather disbelievingly. “Excuse me?”

“Are you free later?” Ivan repeated. “Assuming we survive, that is.”

Matthew stood there with an incredulous look on his features for several long moments before disregarding Ivan’s query entirely. He turned his attention back to the very much dangerous and pressing issue at hand.

“I figure it’s about time we went out for drinks together,” Ivan continued, “after all the time we’ve shared and all.”

“Is now really the time to be discussing this?” Matthew held his breath and cut one of the wires. No explosion. Good. Three more to go.

“I’m just saying it’d be enjoyable to go on a date with you.”

“Ivan.”

“We’ve known each other for several years, after all, and I’d like to think we’ve become good friends.”

“Ivan.”

“And you’ve always struck me as a very kind gentleman with a ridiculous love for sweets and--”

“For God’s sake, Ivan, why are you telling me this now!?” Matthew snapped. “There is a bomb strapped to your chest!”

“That’s precisely why.”

His voice had gone quite serious all of a sudden. Matthew stilled, meeting Ivan’s gaze once more to find his expression had gone rather sullen. It wasn’t until then that Matthew noticed the trembling in Ivan’s hands and how he seemed to be making the extra effort to take slow even breaths.

He was scared.

Ivan was terrified.

“It’d be something to look forward to,” Ivan continued, shifting his gaze away to stare ahead, “assuming we survive, at least.”

Another wire snipped.

Matthew remained quiet for several painstakingly long moments. It wasn’t until the third wire was cut and he shifted to look for the forth that he spoke.

“We’re going to end up fine.” He said softly.

“You sound so sure of that.” Ivan remarked quietly.

“I told you. We were taught to disarm explosives at a young age. Compulsory course.”

Snip.

Matthew slowly worked on undoing the velcro straps holding the vest on. One by one he pried them loose, and ever so slowly slid the vest off. Once it was off and safely discarded to the side, Ivan released a slow and shaky breath, shoulders sagging.

He jolted when Matthew reached out to touch at his shoulder. “You alright...?”

“I will be,” Ivan replied, slowly beginning to relax, “although I find myself remarkably parched.”

Matthew stifled a snort and dragged Ivan in for a hug. “I’ll have ‘em bring in Russia’s finest bottle of Vodka. How’s that sound?”

“So is staring forlornly out into space your new favourite pass-time or somethin’? Cause it’s awful pitiful.”

Ivan didn’t have to look to know who it was plopping down beside him. A pair of skinny legs stretched out in his peripheral vision clothed in suit pants and impeccably shined shoes.

“What do you want, Gilbert?” Ivan asked rather dryly, leaning forward to rest his arms on his knees and clasp his hands together.

“Figured I haven’t pestered you in a while,” Gilbert shrugged, crossing his legs at the ankle as he spoke, “I’ve got a quota to meet, you see.”

“Is that so.” Ivan hummed disinterestedly. 

The two were sat on the outside steps of a conference building. It was meant to be a lunch break, but Gilbert himself had been snacking the entire meeting and Ivan seemed not to be hungry in the slightest.

“You didn’t seem to be paying attention at the meeting either.” Gilbert added, fishing through his pockets until he found what he was looking for. He pulled out a cigarette and lighter, taking the opportunity to have a smoke while the meeting was out of session.

“That would be because I’m not interested.”

“Yikes. Economy got you down?”

Ivan shot Gilbert a sidelong glare, watching as the other impassively brought his cigarette to his lips and took a drag. Gilbert didn’t seem phased by the piercing look.

“You know very well what the problem is, East.”

“Hey now,” Gilbert frowned, leaning forward a bit to scowl at the other, “It’s one Germany. I’m back to just Gilbert.”

“Just?” Ivan echoed, raising a curious brow. Gilbert shrugged, tucking his carton of cigarettes back in his breast pocket. “You seem...remarkably okay with that.” Ivan said slowly.

“It’s nothin’ I haven’t been through before. Just...a little more permanent, I think. No more strings to pull to get me back on the map.”

“Right,” Ivan paused, “you’ve gone through this twice now.”

“Two and a half if you wanna count that coup d’etat or whatever in ‘33. Was it ‘33? Hell if I know, that was a messed up decade.” He fell quiet when he noticed Ivan seeming to lose interest in the conversation. Gilbert watched him for several long moments, cigarette perched idly between his lips.

The Soviet Union had officially been dissolved. All the satellite states released to take control of their nations as they saw fit. Germany had been reunified and the Iron Curtain torn to pieces in one fell swoop. Everyone was ecstatic, to say the least.

Everyone but Ivan, that is.

Gilbert couldn’t blame him. Losing a nation was hard. It was excruciating. But for Ivan to lose a Union as massive as the USSR, one that Ivan represented himself...

Well that had to be all sorts of painful. Gilbert could remember the aches and pains he’d had to deal with. The migraines and night-sweats and God some days it felt like every nerve in his body had been set on fire. 

“No one will speak to me.” Ivan said quietly; so quietly in fact, that Gilbert almost didn’t hear him.

“Well yeah, you sorta ran everyone into the ground.” Gilbert reminded him bluntly. Ivan closed his eyes and released a sharp breath. “Better’n tryin’ to purge the world for a perfect race.”

“Stalin was responsible for millions of deaths, Gilbert.”

“The difference is it was your own people.” Gilbert replied easily, plucking the cigarette from his lips after taking another drag. He flicked the ash off the end, exhaling smoke through his nostrils. “Herr Hitler was a little more...adventurous on that count.”

“This isn’t really making me feel better.” Ivan remarked.

“Who said I was tryin’ to give you a pep talk?”

“If that’s the case, I would ask that you kindly leave.”

Gilbert seemed to deliberate. “Nah.” He flashed a grin when Ivan glowered his direction. 

Ivan turned his gaze back to the street, watching the cars and pedestrians pass by. It was silent for quite some time before either of them spoke again.

“It gets easier.”

Ivan chanced a glance Gilbert’s direction, watching the other snuff out his cigarette and relax back against the steps. Hes expression was remarkably calm and collected; a rarity for him.

“This,” Gilbert emphasized, motioning vaguely to Ivan’s form, “it gets easier.”

“I’m not entirely worried about the physical misery, Gilbert.”

“I’m talkin’ about bein’ ostracized too.” Gil cut in, folding his arms across his chest. “Yeah, they’re pissed, but years will go by and people will move on.” He shrugged. “It’ll pass.”

“You make it sound like a common cold.” Ivan muttered, tugging his scarf a little more tightly around his neck. “Even my sisters ignore me.” He added quietly.

“It won’t be that way forever.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“Because nothing is. If you haven’t figured that out after living for damn near a millennia if not more, then what the fuck are you doin’ here?” Gilbert bit out rather harshly. “I used to be an industrial powerhouse. My army was something to be feared. But I also used to be nothin’ more than a handful of half trained nitwits who called them selves Knights when they were anything but.”

“And now it seems you’re in a lesser position than when you even started.” Ivan added dryly.

“But I’m alive,” Gilbert rebutted, “and that’s gotta count for somethin’. You don’t just throw in the towel when something doesn’t go your way. No one gets anywhere with that. I started from nothing, Ivan. You can start from less. But as I see it, you’ve still got a nation under your feet and obligations to attend to. Make the best of it. You throw away a golden opportunity like that then you’re a coward.”

“It’s not as easy as just-”

“Trust me.” Gilbert interrupted harshly. “I know it. Don’t try and tell me I don’t. But no one got anywhere by rollin’ over and callin’ it quits.” He pushed himself up to his feet, dusting the back of his pants off. “Work hard to make things better. At the very least, they’ll see you try.”

Ivan heard the scrape of Gilbert’s shoes as he stepped back up the stairs. After a few moments he turned and called his attention.

“Gilbert?”

The albino turned on his heel, brows raised and hands shoved in the pockets of his trousers. Ivan hesitated briefly, looking uncertain at first.

“Thank you.” He finally said.

Gilbert’s lips curled up into a lopsided smile as he shot Ivan a mock salute. 

“Was this your idea?”

“Sorta.” Gilbert cleared his throat, shufflingnervously. “I mean, kinda. Yeah. It’s weird but I have my reasons,alright?”

“Care to share them?” Ivan gently clasped his hands behind hisback, watching Gilbert closely. “This is awfully generous, especially foryou. I wasn’t under the impression you were the giving type.” His gazeflickered briefly to the amber walls around them; at the gilded frames andsparkling gemstones. There had to be hundreds of shades of amber stitchedtogether in that room.

And Gilbert, to Ivan’s incredulity, was giving it to him. Just like that.

“It’s,”Gilbert started, wetting his lips as he stared off uncertainly to the side, “it’san apology.”

“Anapology,” Ivan repeated, voice rather flat and rightfully disbelieving, “from you.”

“Look,I know I was an ass to you growing up, but I do actually have some manners. I was kind of a dick toyou when we were kids.”

“Onlykind of?” Ivan arched his brows.

“Alright,a massive dick. So I’m givin’ you this room in the hopes that we can put itpast us and, y’know, you won’t try and get your revenge on me or anythin’.”

Ivanlooked exceptionally unamused. Gilbert couldn’t really blame him. “You’retrying to bribe me.”

“No.I’m not.”

“Anyoneelse would think so.” Ivan said. “You’re giving me an extravagant gift in thehopes that you can persuade me not toutterly decimate your new nation.” Gilbert grimaced. “It’s a bribe.”

“It’san apology.” Gilbert said again,desperately almost. Ivan couldn’t help but delight in that a little bit.

“Icould just flat out deny you.” Ivan said, garnering a rather anxious look fromthe other nation. “I’ve no purpose for these sorts of things, after all. Butthat would be a lot of money wasted on your part.”

Gilberthesitated, shuffling in place. “So…?”

“Wellit would be rude not to accept it,” Ivan shrugged, “so I suppose there’s littlereason not to. Other then I don’t trust you, of course.”

“Notvery many people do,” Gilbert admitted, “but then again who trusts anybody inour line of work?”

“Avalid point.” Ivan hummed, idly walking about the room to assess its moredelicate workings. Gilbert watched him like a hawk as he did. “This won’t meanwe’re friends.” Ivan added after a few moments of thought.

“Coursenot. I’m not that desperate.” Gilbertshifted his weight from side to side. “Allies would be a better term, I think.I’m just lookin’ to put the past behind us, alright?”

“Becauseyou’re intimidated by me.” Ivan cast a rather unnerving smile Gilbert’sdirection and watched as the other nation bristled.

“Whoisn’t?” Gilbert grumbled sourly. “Consider it a peace offering if that makesyou feel better.”

“Itdoes.” Ivan hummed, sweeping his gaze over a particularly fantastic frame. Hereached out to touch it, half convinced it would crumble to pieces the momenthe did. But the room was definitely real, and definitely one of the finestworks of craftsmanship he had seen in, well, ever.

AndGilbert was just…giving it to him.

Hemust’ve been desperate, Ivan thought. How silly.

“So?”Gilbert pressed, anxious for an answer. Ivan took his time deliberating,eventually turning to face the other after a few long moments of silence passedbetween them.

“Iaccept.”

Gilbertstared. “Really?”

“Really.”

“Christ,I didn’t think this’d actually work.” Gilbert breathed out in a nervous laugh,raking a hand through his silver locks. “Alright. Awesome. It’s a deal then.”His lips curled up into a lopsided grin as he thrust his hand out for Ivan toshake.

Ivanhesitated a moment, but finally reached out to clasp Gilbert’s hand in his.They gave each other a firm shake, and then their hands fell away.

Itwas the start of an acquaintanceship Ivan had not entirely expected. But one heultimately didn’t entirely regret, either.

Maria had been told many times that she had the body of aballerina. She was petite, but the drawback was that she was horrendouslyclumsy. All it took was one miserable class as a child to find out ratherquickly that Ballet was not for her.

But she loved it.She loved the dancers and the stories and the music. Loved how every show theyput on was a work of art. She may not have had the right stuff for a dancer,but one thing she did have was musical talent. What she lacked in grace, shemade up for in swift fingers and steady hands. The draw of a bow was its ownlittle dance, bobbing back and forth across the strings in an intricatepattern.

She spent years perfecting that skill. She spent years working her way into the best orchestras there were tooffer until finally, finally, shefound herself in the midst of the New York City Ballet Orchestra.

TheDirector, a man by the name of “Kirkland”, had seen her talent and tenacity.Had seen the way she worked the strings of her violin like a delicate andfierce force all at once.

Itdidn’t take long for her to gain the position of Concertmaster among the FirstViolins. It was an achievement she was veryproud of.

Butwhat made her the happiest was being there among the dancers. She would staylate or arrive early just to watch them practice; to see them glide and pranceabout the stage like water and silk.

Itwas where she met Marianne; a Frenchwoman fresh from Europe looking to be thenext rising star, and Maria had no doubts she would be that and so much more.She was beautiful; the very physical embodiment of grace and poise. Her pirouettesgave her the illusion of floating, as if the very tips of her toes weren’ttouching the stage at all.

Mariaoften stayed just to watch her practice; to watch this beautiful woman claimthe stage as her own with something as simple as an arabesque.

Shenever thought she’d have the opportunity to speak with her—never had the nervestoo. Yet one evening she watched as Marianne fell still, her brilliant bluegaze flickering over the seats that remained shadowed from the flood lightabove the stage.

“Idon’t think you’ve missed a single one of my practices,” she said, startlingMaria quite a bit when Marianne’s gaze landed on her, “or am I wrong?”

Mariahesitated, glancing owlishly about the auditorium in the hopes that perhaps theballerina she’d spent months ogling wasn’t, in fact, calling her out. But evenMaria wasn’t that foolish.

“I…wouldn’tsay all of them,” Maria defendedhesitantly, feeling remarkably small, “maybe…maybe most of them, though. Wouldyou rather I stop…? I understand if it makes you uncomfortable.”

“Non,non. That wasn’t what I intended to imply.” Marianne flashed a smile of perfectteeth and painted lips. “I’m simply wondering why it is you never come up hereyourself.”

 “Ididn’t think I was allowed…” Maria replied hesitantly. “I’m not,” she frowned abit, gnawing on the inside of her cheek, “I’m not a dancer.”

 “Afan, then?”

 “Violinist,”Maria corrected, “I play in the orchestra here.”

 “Andwhat a wonderful player you are, I would wager.” Marianne padded over to theedge of the stage and moved to sit with her legs dangling. “What’s your name?”

 “Maria,”she said with hesitation, “but occasionally I go by Julia as well.”

 “MarianneBonnefoy.” The ballerina introduced.

 “Yes,I know.” Maria admitted sheepishly. “I know all the dancers.”

 “Truly?”

 “Notpersonally, but…yes.”

 “Youhave a passion for ballet, I see.” Marianne’s smile was soft and warm. Mariaquickly cast her gaze down, trying not to stare.

 “Iwanted to be a dancer all my life, but I never had the knack for it. So I tookup music instead.”

 “Andworked your way here.” Marianne hummed, looking genuinely impressed. “Quite thetenacious little one, aren’t you?”

 Thatpulled a smile out of her. Maria stifled a laugh, tucking her feet under herchair. “I seem to get that a lot.”

 “It’sgood to have tenacity,” Marianna went on, “I wouldn’t be here without it,either.”

 Shewas lovely, Maria discovered, and very very kind.

 Mariannedidn’t mind her watching. In fact, she even invited Maria to the Ballet studiowhere all the dancers practiced their routines. Maria ambled beside her withwide eyes, gaping at the wide mirrored rooms and scattered dancers practicingabout. She clutched her violin case close—something Marianne had recommendedshe bring along.

 “Whydon’t you play for me?” Marianne requested when they found a room that wasdevoid of any dancers. “I’d love to hear it.”

 Mariastarted a bit at the request, but she wasn’t about to deny something so simple.So Maria set to work on readying her instrument; tucking it beneath her chinand plucking at the strings to make sure they were in tune. Briefly, shewatched as Marianne took her position in the center of the room.

 Mariadrew in a breath, and then gently began to start a dance of her own.

 Shealways played with her eyes closed. It helped her focus; kept her from gettingdistracted by the world around her—something that was all too easy to do. Shewould pull her bow across the strings and listen to the vibrationsreverberating throughout the room. She would feel them tingle through her hands and chin. Her fingers flutteredover the strings, every push and pull of the bow drawing out beautiful, honeyednotes.

 Sheswayed with the movements, as if a silken cloth in the breeze. Maria made themusic, and the music moved her. Her bow danced and skipped across the strings;she plucked notes like raindrops before drawing out a long, low tone.

 Sheopened her eyes only once, and never found any reason to close them again.

 Mariannedanced as if she were enraptured by the music. Her movements were slow, sensual—justas the melody was. She flowed like water on its smoothest course. She glidedthrough the air as if nothing more than a leaf on the wind. She lookedweightless. Stunning.

 Andshe didn’t falter once as Maria played.

 Slowly,the ballad of strings and pirouettes came to an end. Marianne came to a closeat fifth position, her arms sweeping outward as she bent over in a princelybow.

 Mariastood statue still, the pads of her fingers still holding the last note despiteher bow having already come to rest by her side. Her gaze never wavered fromthe ballerina stood before her. Not even as Marianne straightened and relaxed,casting a warm smile her way.

 Mariafelt her cheeks darken. She finally pulled her eyes away and untucked theviolin from her chin. “You were beautiful.” She said quietly.

 “Andyou were absolutely stunning. It’s no wonder you’re a concertmaster already.”

 “Andyou the lead ballerina.” Maria rebutted, a wide grin settling into place.Marianne seemed to mull over a deep thought for a moment before coming to adecision.

 “Howabout you and I go grab a drink. A coffee, perhaps? My treat.”

“Why is it you’re never willing to give up control?”

Klara dragged her gaze over from the window toward thefigure still sprawled out in bed. Francois looked at her quizzically, one armpillowed beneath his head.

“Should it matter?” She leaned back in her chair, reachingout to tap the ash off the end of her cigarette.

“Indulge me,” Francois countered, “I’m curious.”

Klara stared at him for several long moments before her gazesettled back on the window, peering down at the pedestrians scampering throughthe city streets. She seemed to ignore him completely for a few lengthy minutes,but Francois could see the gears churning through her head despite herimpassive expression.

“I just prefer it that way,” she finally replied, crossingher legs at the knee, “always have.”

He gave an irritated snort in response, rolling over ontohis stomach to stare at the headboard. Klara finally stood when her cigarettehad burned out and she snuffed it in the ash tray. She meandered about theroom, picking up her clothes and slipping back into them silently.

“Were you taken advantage of?”

Klara shot him a sidelong glare,jaw tightening as she pulled her shirt over her shoulders.

“So you were.”

“It’s not your business.” She bitout harshly, turning to face him as he rolled over onto his back. He linked hisfingers behind his head, legs crossed at the ankles. “It’s not anyone’s business.”

“Yes, you’re rather adamant thateverything about you remains shrouded in mystery. The very things that make youyou aren’t anyone’s business.”

“As it should be.” Klara yankedher jeans up over her waist, doing up the zip and buttons before searching forher shoes. “Now stop prying.”

“Even after all the time we’vespent together, you still refuse to divulge facts about your past? You knowalmost everything about me; it’s only fair I know a little about you.”

“That’s because you never stoprunning your mouth.”

“Please, I’m not Oliver.”

Klara sank into the edge of thebed, pulling her socks on. Francois watched as she finished redressing. Shetook a glimpse of herself in the mirror long enough to fuss with the mussedstrands of pearly white. Briefly, Francois found himself wondering if she’dever had it long. Throughout all those centuries, she’d only ever had itcropped short.

“When did it happen?” He pressed.Klara remained silent, straightening her collar.

When she was done, she sat stillon the edge of the bed, hands falling to rest in her lap. The gears wereturning again as she weighed her options; to remain silent or finally disclose whatinformation Francois was looking for.

“When I was in The Order.” Shefinally answered. “One of the soldiers found out I was pretending to pass as aboy.”

Francois let out a soft “ah”,watching as she stared forward rather distantly. There was a furrow in her browas she gnawed on the inside of her cheek. “What happened to him?”

“I killed him.”

“Naturally.” Francois hummed. “Andthe scars on your throat?”

Klara shot him a piercing glare,hands fisting. “This isn’t an interview.” She ground out. He lifted his handsin surrender, hoping to abate her ire before it stretched too far.

“You can’t blame me for beingcurious.” He defended.

“Everyone is,” Klara stood, “butthey’re smart enough to keep their mouths shut.” She checked her wrist watchbriefly before catching his gaze once more.

“Was that the first time?” Hepressed regardless, garnering a severe look from the other.

“It was the only time.” She snatched her jacket off the dresser, yanking it onrather harshly.

Francois watched in silence.

Always the enigma, she was. Klarawas silent more than anyone else he knew. Distant. Calculating. Intimidating.She’d once commanded arguably one of the most notorious military nations andthat very fact seemed to be engraved in her being; the way she stood straightand worked in a methodical manner. She was always punctual, always did her workin a timely and extraordinarily organized manner, and always kept her workenvironments disturbingly clean.

It was rare for her to even speakunless it was in private amongst those she considered friends, though Francoishad his doubts she treated them as such. Acquaintances was a better term forit. Or perhaps Associates. It was hard to decide whether it was because she wasquiet by nature, or because her voice was so rough and low.

It hadn’t always been that way.Before the Second World War she’d had a very lovely voice. Francois liked toimagine she would have had a beautiful singing voice had she taken up thehobby, but Klara wasn’t very musically inclined as far as he recalled.

People like themselves were verymuch capable of being cruel beings, but Francois had found humans could bedecidedly more so. They all had scars to prove it.

“Klara.” He called her attentionjust as she reached for the doorknob. She stilled, shifting to look at him inirritation. “I understand you have your reasons, but shutting yourself out toeveryone isn’t a healthy way to live. Even your brother hardly knows a thingabout you, and he’s your family.”

“There’s no reason for me to talkabout any of it; it’s in the past.”

“But it helps others understandyou more. I’ve met some pretty reclusive people in my lifetime, but you, mydear, are certainly the worst I’ve seen.”

“So what?”

“So aren’t you unhappy? It mustbe awfully miserable living your life in solitude.”

She drew in a breath, looking forthe briefest moments as if he’d struck a nerve. But her expression smoothed outjust seconds later. “It’s safer.” Klara reasoned.

“It’s unhealthy,” Francoiscountered, “and it pushes people away. When’s the last time you spoke to yourbrother?”

Klara didn’t answer. Her griploosed on the knob, gaze drifting to the floor.

“That’s what I thought.” Hepushed himself upright, rubbing absently at a harsh bruise blooming over hisshoulder. “Not everyone’s out to get you, Klara. You should give people achance every once in a while.”

“I’ve no reason to.”

“Just try.”

Francois met her stare, marvelingbriefly at the deep red of her irises. Klara eventually averted her gaze,pulling to door open silently.